A Cyanide Kiss
by magicsintheair
Summary: Stressed and fed-up with constantly having nightmares of his time in the POW camp, Bucky asks the camp's medic for a cyanide pill to hide in his clothes. A few weeks later, Bucky falls off the train. Instead of killing himself when he gets captured, he holds onto the hope that Steve will come and save him again. Stucky.


"Bucky, Bucky! Are you okay?!" It was the third night in a row Bucky had waken up to Steve shaking him, blue eyes filled with concern. He was breathing heavily, and started counting the seconds until his eyes cleared of blood and pain that the nightmare sent him back to.

"Steve, I'm…" _Help me Steve, I'm dying and it hurts too much to breath_, "...fine, I'm fine, Steve." He couldn't stop himself from burying his head into the crook of Steve's neck, breathing in the comforting, familiar smell of home even though Steve's new body was as unfamiliar as finally being free from Zola's experiments. He felt Steve's arms wrap around him, and Bucky slowly relaxed.

"You're not fine, Bucky," He could hear Steve say with an impatient sigh, "I know you're not and you know I know you're not so can you just stop _lying_ to me?" Bucky squeezed his eyes tighter. Fuck, he was clinging to Steve like a baby. Steve didn't have time for all of Bucky's shitty problems. He had to worry about being Captain America and God knows what else he got into while Bucky was away. Bucky always protected Steve before. He doesn't need Steve to help him now, he just needed Steve to ignore him while he buried his issues deep so they could both concentrate on more important things. He couldn't be a burden. He'd deal with his ghosts and demons after the war.

"You're not fine, Bucky," Steve repeated, "You're anything BUT fine!" He could tell Steve was trying to be gentle, but his voice was still laced with steel. Steve needs to learn when to let things be, dammit. It's only been a week since Bucky and the rest of the 107th was rescued by Steve. He didn't want to deal with this yet.

"Shut up, Steve, I said I'm fine!" Bucky snapped, pushing himself away from Steve and sitting at the edge of the cot. He put his head in his hands, shutting his eyes and trying to block out the screaming still echoing inside his head.

"Bucky-" Steve protested helplessly, and put his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Bucky, please. Please talk to me." The desperation in Steve's voice made it so hard for Bucky to deny him. He just wanted Steve to be happy, to make Steve always happy. He hated disappointing him, but he just.. can't talk about it right now. He can't. Why couldn't he be stronger? Bucky sighed, turned his body towards Steve, and took Steve's hand with his.

"Can we just... can we just go to sleep?" Bucky pleaded, exhaustion settling in, "I'm just so tired, Stevie. I'm so tired." His head was pounding, and he couldn't deal with this right now. Bucky couldn't look Steve in the eye, didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes. He stared down at the frayed blanket instead, his hands still slightly trembling. The silence was heavy, full of Steve's concern and Bucky's agitation. After a pause, Steve gave in.

"Okay, Buck." Bucky closed his eyes in relief. Steve hesitantly continued, "But we are gonna talk about this later. I'm worried about you, and… I love you." Bucky smiled for the first time that night, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

"I love you too, punk," Bucky replied as he turned his head and gave Steve a chaste kiss on the lips. Their hands untangled as they began getting ready to go back to sleep.

Bucky waited until Steve's breathing evened out, feeling the warmth better than any blanket radiating off the man next to him.

He stared up at the ceiling of the tent, wondering if he would be able to survive the war. He can't be captured again. The thought of torture was like an iron band around his heart, an inescapable heavy feeling in his chest, making it hard for him to breath and leaves him helplessly choking on air. He would rather die. Bucky imagined escaping the sharp, agonizing torture, feeling it fading away to the sweet relief of darkness. The iron band loosened a bit.

Would it be selfish of him to ask Agent Carter for a cyanide pill? He knew she had some, or at least knew someone who does. But… could he leave Steve behind, unprotected with no one to watch his back? (He tried to ignore part of his mind whispering, "He's stronger now, stronger than you, with his own unit. He doesn't need you anymore.")

And besides, he couldn't leave Steve behind. Not without a fight. A scalpel and needles appeared in front of his eyes, tearing his skin open and pumping drugs into him that made him scream, made him burn alive, drugs that made his reality so distorted he was never sure if he was dreaming or awake. Bucky took a shaky breath in, pushing the thoughts away. He'd go through that again for Steve, he knew that much, no matter how much it hurt.

But… what if Steve had to leave him for dead? Bucky knew the horrors of war, knew that sometimes, sacrifices had to be made. Steve might have been able to save him before, but he might not always have that option.

Bucky couldn't imagine going through that unending horror again, except this time until he was died or was killed. Would Steve really begrudge him of a painless death of his own choosing, instead of being tortured until he's only an empty shell of pain and agony? He didn't think so. He wasn't going to ask though; he knew Steve would only hate the idea and strongly deny the possibility.

He shuffled closer to Steve and put his head on Steve's chest. Bucky closed his eyes, listening to the strong drum of his heart. Just a couple of months ago, when he did this Steve's heart would flutter and pause, and Bucky would count the beats, praying that tonight would not be the night that weak heart stopped. But Steve's heart must have been as strong as his will, because even though there were close calls, Steve got through them all, heart intact and bravely continuing the battle of simply beating on.

Bucky stared into the darkness, soaking in Steve's warmth, yet feeling the icy pit of cold form in his stomach. You're safe with Steve, he told himself firmly. You're safe right now. (But for how long?) He closed his eyes, counting the beats of Steve's heart like he used to so long ago. So much has changed. Bucky tried to empty his mind, matching up his breaths to Steve's, but the thought of cyanide lingered, comforting him or scaring him.

He couldn't tell.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you like it so far :) And I really do appreciate comments and such, so a huge thank you to those who do that! Also, a ginormous thank you to my beta, Nepetation, who helps me with my fics so much!


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